


Captivation

by NkyOT



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Arts, M/M, Malfoy, OOC for a Malfoy maybe?, Pre-Canon, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NkyOT/pseuds/NkyOT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malfoys have always had a penchant for the darker, more mysterious things. This one comes in the form of a Riddle, smelling of winter spices, and of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivation

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in approximately the 6th/7th year, so it's not technically underage (for the UK). The tone was heavily influenced by the instrumental piece 'Embers' by Adam Hurst. [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91xjYctWo60]

He swept past me with hardly a glance in my direction, but from that instant I was drawn to him; drawn by his enigmatic prowess, the purpose in his step. I felt an ancient magic stir the air about me, and in that moment I felt utterly powerless. My eyes were glued to his face, and I could barely breathe past a consuming ache that tightened deep within my chest — for him, his alabaster skin and dark eyes. He barely looked at me.

He was a charming man; so gracious, so quietly composed, that all would bend to his will with a single glance. He had the whole school enthralled — what a wonder, an utter privilege, that he was in _our_ House, that we could be graced with association to one so... _incredible_. He held us all, so gently, so completely, in the palm of his hand. We were so willing — _I_ was so willing — to do anything, for him: for one stare of those deep, obsidian eyes; to be graced with the slight curve of his mouth or a gentle nod, a touch, in thanks. A quiet word from his lips. To be close enough to hear a single breath, a single sigh, was enough to set my skin on fire. 

I watched, entranced, as he dined. Every movement was fluid, soft, but held purpose: he never gave anything away behind that ever-so-slight smile, lingering at the corners of his lips. He gently pulled back the drape of his sleeve as he reached towards his goblet, the material slipping, receding, to reveal the slight jut of his thin wrist. I adored it. I wanted to take that joint and kiss it, tracing the winding, violet arteries strewn beneath his ghostly skin, to feel his temperate pulse quicken beneath my lips. I wanted him to touch me with his slender fingers. I was mesmerized by the way the light reflected off his skin as he moved; the way the sinews of his neck flexed gently as he turned his head, a soft curl of dark hair tickling his eyes. I wanted...

I knew, even then I knew, in that one moment it took me to glimpse his face — there was something that lurked behind those eyes; below his quiet, calm expression was something terrifying. I knew and I could _see_. There was a lingering hunger in the curve of his smile, a snake poised to strike beneath every gentle touch. But, still more, I longed for him. I longed for him to know my name.

And, one day, he came for me.  
  
Out of the shadows, he caught me by the arm, his grip steady and strong; he was so sure of himself, of the lure he held over me. He tugged me to him, and I obeyed. My books thudded to the floor. I was cornered. The bricks of the dungeon glowed a deep brass in the torchlight, but their touch was like ice against my nervous skin. My shirt had risen slightly, catching on the wall, and his nails were strumming a concerto against the slither of bare skin at my hips. He pinned me, trapped me, against him.

I was a mouse between his fangs. I had always been there.

I shivered, arching against the harsh stone at my back. He was so close, so solid as he pressed into me, his body heat sending a yearning jolt through my gut. My cheeks flushed; his breath was hot on my lips, and I could pick out the flecks of grey in his eyes. I was intoxicated by his scent: a mulled, heady concoction of spices lulled me close and fogged my senses. My whole being trembled for his touch. His thumbs brushed against my skin in agonizing little circles as he forced our bodies together, pressing his mouth upon mine.

I melted with a quiet moan, pulling him closer with clumsy hands, tipping myself into him as all thoughts flew from my mind. I could feel every inch of his body pressing into me, his hands wandering across my stomach as he slipped his tongue willfully into my mouth. Seconds melded into minutes, and I couldn't remember closing my eyes. I was focused solely on his touch, his tongue against mine, our mouths locked around my shuddered groans. I knew whatever he wanted of me, I would give.

But suddenly, with an abrupt jolt, I was aware of something blacker: a knife-edge split the fog swirling within my head. Pulling back, I blinked. There it was: an intense fire burning in his eyes, a ravenous want, and my knees began to shake. His stare was coiling itself around my entire being, squeezing the breath from my lungs, and I knew he was looking into my very core.

His fingers rested heavily against my lips. Thumb brushing at the corner of my mouth, his breath hot against my cheek, he murmured sweetly, "Would you swear yourself to me, Abraxas?"

He already had his answer. My soul was in his grip. I knew that, should it be asked of me, I would do anything for him. Unable to hold myself up, I slid to my knees, hunching over my shaking hands. His fingertips curled under my jaw. 

"Yes," I croaked, my voice breaking, smothered in the silence of the deserted hallway. I leant forward into his solid form, feeling suddenly lightheaded with the overwhelming scent of winter, and of death.  
  
"Yes. My Lord." 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I may have made Abraxas too effusive with his admiration, for a Malfoy at least. But I find him an interesting character to flesh out, especially if we assume he was one of Tom Riddle's entourage at Hogwarts - a first generation Death Eater. If anything, I'm trying to explore both their characters, here. To completely ensnare the proud, proper Malfoys, and ensure their loyalty for the next two generations, what kind of impression must Riddle have had?


End file.
